


Acts of Defiance in the Face of an Untimely Death

by furorem



Series: Carpe Diem, Memento Mori and Everything In Between [2]
Category: Mindhunter (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff and Smut, Gothic Romance, Introspection, M/M, Magical Realism, Slice of ... Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:34:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28134024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/furorem/pseuds/furorem
Summary: Holden may have lost his faith and his humanity, but he’s still got himself, still got Bill.
Relationships: Holden Ford/Bill Tench
Series: Carpe Diem, Memento Mori and Everything In Between [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2061081
Comments: 12
Kudos: 17





	Acts of Defiance in the Face of an Untimely Death

**Author's Note:**

  * For [princesskay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/princesskay/gifts).



> Merry Christmas, princesskay. 🎄❤️ Because everyone deserves good things, warm things.  
> I hope you like it.  
> (This can be read as a continuation of _But to the Dead, the Truth_ but should in no way negate whatever interpretation you took away from the story.)

The rectangular bedside lamp is casting gloomy light into the room, accentuating the shadows which cling to Holden. It’s almost silent, except for Bill’s slow, moderate breathing. Cross-legged they’re both seated on the bed, eyes locked in concentration as they sit facing each other. Bill’s are threatening to fall shut with exhaustion. He has to visibly fight the sweet call of rest.

“You’re not concentrating hard enough,” Holden complains, wide awake.

“Jeez, wonder why that is. Maybe because I just came back from California, had a 60 hours work week so far and it’s only Thursday?”

“I know, I was there. Bill, please.”

“We’ve been sitting here for nearly an hour. I need my beauty sleep, Holden.”

“Only a bit longer. I’ll suck you off, as a reward. How about that?”

Bill sighs his name.

“What? You like it when I do it.”

“I also like sleep. I’m begging you, let me sleep.”

Holden exhales an annoyed huff and stretches his hands behind his back, palms flat on the duvet to lean his weight against them. “Fine. But tomorrow, we’ll try again. Promise me, Bill.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

“Promise me.”

“I’m going to sleep now,” he warns as he falls on his back with another sigh and rolls over to turn off the light. It’s his signal for Holden to either fuck off or cuddle up to him. Holden always chooses the latter.

Bill only slightly shudders as Holden’s cold presence nestles against him – he’s used to it by now and has learned to wear appropriate night gear. His arm firmly wraps around Holden, tucking him closer.

“Did you hear that?” he mumbles, eyes closing, breath becoming slow and shallow.

Holden whispers back, cataloguing every line on Bill’s face, “No. Tell me. Please?”

There it is, that small smile which tells Holden Bill is not mad with him, not really. “Keep trying to find out.”

“You better keep-” he replies but Bill is already asleep.

Left to his own devices, Holden stretches his hand towards Bill’s face, fingers tracing his rugged features, the softness of his lips. He doesn’t apply too much pressure, careful not to wake the other man. Instead, his eyes and thumb trail up to Bill’s temple where he caresses the tip of his ear and the bristly grey hair.

He doesn’t like it when Bill is asleep. It reminds him of being trapped in that forest where he was buried; confusion and warped darkness. It reminds him of gazing at the canopy, and the stars above, hoping for divine intervention. It reminds him of days and nights blending into each other and slowly losing hope of rescue. It reminds him of forgetting his own name, his family, his life, becoming a spectre of himself. It reminds him of screaming for hours on end to catch the attention of the builders. It reminds of hours and hours of willpower poured into making himself appear, hoping that someone would see him; into regaining his voice after losing it; into giving himself a solid form.

And it reminds him of being alone with his thoughts, his anger, his doubts. His fears. His self that was no self, just a faded impression of a human being. 

He doesn’t like it when Bill sleeps. But he likes it when Bill’s dreams. When Holden first met him, his sleep was erratic, disturbed by nightmares and alcohol being pumped through his system, poisoning his arteries and liver. Now, he only dreams good dreams, and on the rare one-off occasion he doesn’t, Holden makes sure he will. He wants – _needs_ – Bill healthy.

Tonight, there’s no need to interfere. Tonight, he’s dreaming of Holden, of them. He probably shouldn’t pry and yet he can’t help himself but watch the erotic scene unfold before him. It _is_ about him, surely that’ll warrant his intrusion.

It’s their bedroom, dimly lit and Holden is spread on the cover, skin gleaming with sweat, his hands clenched in the sheets above him. Bill’s persistent mouth is burning kisses across Holden’s skin, caressing hands twined around his hips. He’s naked, too, sliding down Holden’s feverish body to kiss his trembling chest and his quivering stomach until he comes to rest between his thighs, coaxing satisfied sighs out of his lover. He closes his eyes as he reaches his goal, buries his nose, his face in Holden’s groin and takes a deep breath.

Is that what Bill dreams of?...

To feel the heat of Holden’s skin? To know his scent?

Bill is not the only one yearning for those things. Holden wants to share warmth instead of basking in it, he wants to _feel_ Bill’s mouth on every inch of his body, he wants to fall asleep next to him, he wants to give him what he deserves – someone with whom he can share his life with. Holden wants. Wants. Wants.

In his heart of hearts, he knows Bill deserves more. He deserves someone who didn’t manipulate him, isn’t obsessed with their own death, who hasn’t turned the attic into a chamber of unspeakable insanity. He deserves good things. Warm things.

But by God, this long shriveled heart of his has come to love the other man. Fiercely. Was it love at first sight? No. When he first saw Bill, when Bill talked to him, he saw an opportunity. Pure serendipity that he of all people took notice. A means to an end. And then he didn’t recoil at the thought of Holden flirting his way into the investigation, he didn’t recoil when he realized that Holden was dead, he didn’t recoil at Holden’s touch, to the contrary, sought it. He forgave Holden for seducing him. 

Be mine, he’d said. _Be mine._

He thinks he’d be willing to let Bill go if it meant his happiness, but Bill doesn’t want to let go. He accepted the Faustian bargain. Because the truth is, Bill is all hard shell, all bark but no bite. Once cracked, he’s gooey and malleable like hot chocolate, bitter and sweet at the same time. While he himself – well, he looked like the innocent flower but was the serpent underneath. Holden gave him a fair chance, as fair a chance he was willing to give. He had been ready to tell him, many times, but Bill hadn’t been ready to listen. Until the funeral.

They haven’t talked about that night since, but Holden likes to believe that Bill understands, that Bill believed him when he confessed his love. It was, and still is, after all, the core of what fueled and is fueling his pursuit of a return to mortality. If someone else would’ve found him, maybe he would have agreed with Allegra Cabot. Maybe if any other person would’ve been able to see him, would have helped him, he would’ve been fine if there was no way back, with exacting his long-awaited revenge and being condemned to the fifth circle of hell.

The thought makes him grin in self-deprecation. It would have been the one sin which would have put him in hell in the first place, the only sin for which he wouldn’t have begged for God’s forgiveness.

But God’s forgiveness doesn’t matter to him anymore. His family’s teachings had started to erode long before he died and what had remained, shrank until there was nothing left but him and his determination.

Holden knows what Bill thinks – that Holden has Bill wrapped around his little finger. Little does he know that the same applies to Holden, that he’d do anything for Bill. It was he, who reached out to Holden. It was him, who stopped Holden from besmirching his soul when he was confronted with the man who caused him so much pain and misery. His silent plea had been so loud, his voice had echoed in Holden’s head.

Holden wishes to recreate that moment, to strengthen the connection he can feel pulsing like hot blood between them. He never asked, but he’s sure Bill is unaware of how palpable it is at all times. He never told Bill how scared he was when he felt the priest’s hold on his soul, how desperate he’ was to stay and kill the son of a bitch who did this to him, to understand his predicament; how his despair had him reach out and latch onto Bill, wrapping his being around him in hopes of binding them together.

Holden also hasn’t told him that their connection is strongest when they’re entangled in each other. It’s the only time he feels as though he’s made of flesh and blood again. He can’t taste Bill, can’t smell him or feel the pressure of fingertips. Only when passion and love are given physical expression does his mind remember and recall impressions his body has long forgotten. He wishes he would’ve met Bill sooner. He wishes it would’ve been Bill who picked him up that fateful night when he drunkenly stumbled back to the hotel. Behaving his age for the first time in his life and then - -

Bill would’ve taken good care of him. Reality and dreams have proven that.

In this one, Holden’s desire is visible. He’s hard and his eyes are closed in ecstasy as Bill wraps his mouth around the straining flesh, meticulous and slow and sloppy, his eyes focused on Holden’s face. Holden is at once outside and inside the experience, sees and feels the wetness of his mouth, saliva sliding down his cock and onto Bill’s hand gripping him around the base. His tongue flattens against the head, gliding against it in a smooth rhythm again and again until Holden is squirming with sensation, legs trembling, lungs too small to contain his shuddering breath.

He sees, feels, getting lost in the onslaught of explosive sensations; telling himself that he still knows what it's like. 

Time, like experiences, in dreams is – weird. Elongated yet short. When he withdraws from Bill’s mind, the clock has barely crawled past midnight.

With a sigh, he escapes the warm cocoon of Bill’s arms, pulls the sheets over his protesting body. This is another thing Bill doesn’t know. Even asleep his body seeks Holden’s presence. Unconsciously, his hand brushes Holden’s arm as he rises from the bed and makes himself lose his grip on the manifestation of his body.

And Bill expects Holden to not be completely smitten with him.

Leaving his sleeping partner behind, Holden walks through the closed bedroom door and ascends the sleek walnut wooden stairs to the attic with silent footfalls, avoiding the fourth step, knowing it creaks when stepped upon.

He hates being alone, it reminds him of being back in that awful place, dying a slow and painful death. Nevertheless, he can’t deny that the night belongs to him. It is the time of the day when he can freely roam the house and look into the things, he deems important in his on-going quest of finding a way back into the land of the living. His family wanted to bury him, give him peace. He’s not sure he would’ve found it, filled to the brim with all these unfulfilled, unspoken desires as he is. 

During the day, he has to go where Bill goes, bound to him through means beyond his understanding. He is with Bill, always. Invisible. Watching. Longing to be on the other side of the veil, to be seen and recognized by others, by Bill’s friends, his family. 

During the night, he can climb the steps leading up to the attic, into second, secret office Bill and he have furnished together - his study, filled with shelves half-full of ancient cryptid texts, scriptures whose origin are undated, and a desk occupied by paper and pens. He doesn’t need a light to read what is written in these abominable texts turned saving grace. For the sake of feeling normal he does it anyway, turning the small copper lamp, stationed atop the desk, on. The attic has one small round window facing the backyard and the tree they had planted together. Holden smiles at the memory and goes to work.

As he sits down and opens one of the old leather bound books scavenged from Walker’s basement, his eyes naturally stray to the marked pages on which he’s been working on for a few days now. A language, unfamiliar to him, stares back, composed of encrypted signs he’s never seen before.

The first time he sat down to study these texts, Bill had tried to help him but ended up puking his guts out caused by a severe headache. When asked what had given him the headache, he told Holden of the quiet whispers whenever he looked at the books, the unremitting sense of vertigo. Since the incident, Bill is not allowed to look at them or go near them. The attic is Holden’s domain and Bill is forbidden from entering. Holden knows better than to put them both at risk. 

If an outsider would look inside, they would see nothing exempt for a small ball of light illuminating a book whose pages turn on their own and a pen ghosting along white paper, taking notes all by itself. 

Over the course of the night, he toils away in his little attic room, getting sucked into a world he is trying to escape. Furiously, he scribbles down countless combinations, striking them, only to begin anew. The act of uncovering these texts’ secrets, to understand what is written in them, and not being one step closer to his goal, leaves him frustrated and angry, with no way to express it lest he wants to destroy the books in a fit of rage. Theoretically he knows where to begin, but how if he can’t read what is written in them? Can’t decipher it? How had Walker done it, he wonders. 

Head and back bent over an old scroll whose ink has nearly faded with age and one of the Walker books, it all starts blurring together, making, if possible, even less sense. Messages written by madmen for madmen. He can’t help but come to the conclusion that Walker might be the key to unlock this mystery. Holden puts the pen down. Bill and Wendy talked about interviewing Walker for their reanimated study…perhaps it was time.

When the first rays of orange sunlight creep along the horizon, he turns off the light and his attention to the beauty of the world. A small blessing, a promise, among the bleakness of the present.

He thinks back to a conversation he and Bill had, regarding their plan to bring Holden back, shortly after the funeral. Together they’d returned to Virginia and sitting in silence across from each other at the kitchen table, Bill with a cigarette and a coffee, he said he’d only help if he didn’t lose sight of right and wrong, only if they would establish ground rules, that he was in too deep already but wouldn’t wade further if it meant taking an innocent life. Holden easily agreed to it. He wouldn’t wish what had happened to him on another person. He was born bloody and screaming into this world once, left it the same. If he’s given the choice to change it the second time around, he will. 

He will, he swore. And took Bill’s hand into his, shaking on it in his own way, by kissing the back of his hand.

After that, an eager Bill had dragged him into the bedroom, demanding Holden to – 

his lips quirk in amusement and fondness at the memory, but the smile vanishes just as fast as it came as doubts fill him when he recalls Bill’s dream. Does he merely tolerate Holden’s current state and the strange unearthly touch that goes along with it? Or even worse, does he believe he needs to entertain Holden to stay in good favor? 

Biting his lip, he rises from his seat and leaves his notes as they are. Turning away from this tedious task, he begins walking down into Bill’s bedroom, closing the door behind him with a quiet thump. 

Returning to his sleeping partner, Holden descends the sleek walnut wooden stairs to the bedroom with silent footfalls, avoiding the fourth step, knowing it creaks when stepped upon.

The room is dark, and Bill is still curled on his side, face relaxed. Holden walks over to the window to crack open the curtains, letting the faint sunlight in. It covers Bill’s slumbering figure in glowing stripes, highlighting the sharpness of his jawline. 

Shuffling over to the bed, he lies down next to Bill, anxiously waiting for him to wake up. For his breath to become shallower, for his eyes to blink open and regard Holden in the golden light of autumn.

“Good morning,” Holden whispers, knowing that Bill likes to be greeted with kind words. Bill mumbles something, which sounds like a greeting, back and stretches one arm towards Holden to press him closer to his body, while the other is rubbing sleep from his eyes.

Holden pounces, “Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot,” Bill sighs. 

“I’m fully aware I’m not exactly your idea of an ideal partner. Or, you know, convenient. Being – incorporeal and male, right?”

“Right,” Bill admits, eyebrows dropped deep over his eyes in confusion. “Where are you going with this?”

“Do you like being with me?”

“I do,” Bill answers, hesitant in his confusion. “Why are you asking?”

“Doesn’t it bother you that you can’t be as intimate with me as you can with a normal person?”

Bill doesn’t immediately respond. Quietly, he scrutinizes Holden’s face for a moment.

“Have you been wandering my dreams again?”

“That wasn’t me. It was your own imagination. Even in dreams I’m not able to – be like that. So, it doesn’t bother you? Would you want that? If I ever turn back, would still want me? Because I know what I’d want.”

“And what do you want?”

“Everything. I want you in every possible way. I want to eat the food you cook, and I want to take a shower again. I want to be adventurous with you.” Holden, overcome by his longing, leans over to kiss the corner of Bill’s mouth before catching his eyes again. “I want to know what you taste like and I want to know what your fingers on my skin feel like and... I want my fingers inside you.”

“Ah ha. So that’s it,” Bill says, his hand going up and down, and up and down Holden’s back.

“I was thinking about it, about the first time. Will you let me?”

Bill takes another moment to think, his eyes straying from Holden to the window and back to Holden, while Holden’s hand creeps towards the growing bulge in his pants, trying to ascertain his true reactions.

Brashly, he brushes his palm over it, ensuring Bill rolls his hips into it instead of away. “Is that enough of an answer for you?” he asks on his next aroused exhale. His arm pushes Holden closer, smearing a wet kiss across his cheekbone. “You can tell me what you want, you know.”

“I just did, didn’t I?” Holden retorts, his mouth already attached to the vulnerable side of Bill’s neck and humming with satisfaction as the hand, not rhythmically rubbing against Bill’s cock, sneaks past his t-shirt and sweeps with gentle pressure upwards: over his bulky middle and even further up, over Bill’s muscular pectorals.

Bill’s breath hitches as he says, “Without beating around the bush.”

“Shut up and get naked. There. Better?”

“Jesus –” Bill curses, as Holden bites him, rolls him onto his back and sits on his haunches to get rid of Bill’s shirt.

“Not quite. Taking me longer than three days.”

Laughing, Bill sits up. The same laughter and excitement are in his eyes as he whispers, inches from Holden’s face, “Wait here.” In record time he hurries to the bathroom, prepares and returns to an eager Holden, who picks up where they left off. Positioned in Bill’s lap, Holden’s arms wind around his broad frame, noses nudging against one another before their lips connect. Passion thawing the ice. 

Bill’s hands come to rest on Holden’s hips, eventually replicating his lover’s earlier motions, ridding Holden of his shirt (which, like always, immediately disappears as it leaves his body) and getting his searching hands and mouth on him. Holden allows it for a minute, warming himself on the devotion, before he pushes Bill back onto the bed. He doesn’t want him too excited yet. 

Smirking at Bill’s indignant expression, he keeps him pinned to the bed with one hand, while his other slowly moves down Bill’s warm skin towards his visible need pushing against the flannel of his pajama pants where Holden applies, what he hopes, is a gentle touch. He doesn’t want to hurt Bill. Not unintentionally. Bill’s sharp intake of breath through his nostrils tells him he doesn’t, that he may continue.

Carefully, he hooks his fingers underneath the waistband of his pants, pushing them down Bill’s hips and throwing them to the floor without a care as to where they land. His eyes are drawn to something more interesting. Bill in his vulnerable, shameless state: the accelerated rise and fall of his chest, his hard cock. For no other reason than some strange instinct, born out of thin air and innate desire, he bows down to kiss one of Bill’s knees, his hands brushing along Bill’s thighs. Fuck, how he wishes to feel the fine hair underneath his fingertips instead of this faint tingling like the rushing of blood into numb extremities.

Encouraged by Holden’s position, Bill moves his legs, feet firmly planted on the bed, bracketing him, creating a little pocket of reality just for them. As Holden’s lips sow kisses along the soft inside of his thigh, one his hands reach for Holden’s. Only reluctantly, he lets himself be guided upwards, coming to rest between and on top of Bill entirely ( his fully grown erection very noticable) so that Bill’s mouth may gingerly lay a kiss against Holden’s palm. His eyes are dark with desire as he catches Holden’s eyes and maintains the contact. With the same tenderness, he drags his lips along Holden’s little finger; another kiss on his fingertip, and another on his ring finger and another and another and another. No longer able to withstand it, Holden closes his eyes in bliss, mind dipping into the imaginary sensations to procure an echo of the past. 

It takes a lot of willpower to cut off the wonderful feeling, to wrestle his hand from the loving touch and reach over to the drawer. Impatiently, he fumbles it open. For a second the small piece of rib cage stares at him, safely stored away in a little glass container, mocking him with what he’s lost, showing him the transience of life. Trying not to think about it, he ignores it and reaches for the small tube of vaseline next to it. It’s half-empty, hinting at what he’s found, what he’s unexpectedly gained.

He throws the tube on the other side of the bed, under Bill’s watchful gaze, and leans bows over Bill to capture his lips in a searing kiss, pushing his tongue against Bill’s wet mouth, demanding access. Licking into him, his tongue finds Bill’s tongue, smooths along it, slow and unhurried, while his hands are back to drawing familiar lines along Bill’s body, until he reaches his pulsing erection. The impression is faint, but when Holden closes his eyes and concentrates hard enough, he can remember. He can remember and imagine what it’s like when his hand wraps around it.

Slightly opening his eyes, he watches Bill’s face as his hands come to rest on Holden’s cold cheeks with focused intent of keeping him close, keeping him in place, as their tongues retreat and their lips drift against one another maintaining the slow rhythm, savoring.

At the beginning of their relationship his movements were hasty, spurred by his will to be with Bill and the fear of being left behind, left to die. But not anymore. He’s learned to draw out the sweet torture ever since they’ve met each other on equal footing. Giving Bill some time to catch his breath, Holden’s mouth moves, from the corner of Bill’s lips to his cheekbone while his hand is gliding along his swollen need, eliciting the first of many moans to come. Knowing he’s the source of Bill’s pleasure chases away Death’s hand persistently clinging to him; turning him into something akin to flesh and blood, if only for a moment.

For one last time, he tightens his grip on Bill’s cock with care – another moan – and releases him to let his hand wander downwards, over his taut balls – a groan – and further still, giving him a first taste of what’s to come. Under protest, lips and hands move away for a short duration to unscrew the lid of the vaseline and dip cold fingers into it, scraping a copious amount out of the tube and rubbing it between his fingers in hopes of warming it.

Without having to be told, Bill moves his legs into position by hooking them over Holden’s shoulders, taking deep measured breaths through his nose, relaxing into the mattress beneath him. His eyes never leave Holden’s face. It’s a good thing. It makes it easier for Holden to make sure there’s no trace of discomfort on his features as he softly rubs against his yielding hole, asking for permission, for entry. They’ve done it so often by now, Holden can tell when Bill is ready, when he’s allowed to push the first digit into him with gentle care until he’s fully inside – the softest and warmest part of Bill’s body. Aside from Bill’s heart. But he wouldn’t dare touch that, even if the thought of pushing into Bill’s ribcage and closing his hand around it to feel it beating against the center of his palm rouses a primal instinct in him he’d rather not examine too closely. 

Instead, his finger finds a slow rhythm with which to make Bill’s cock leak with the promise of orgasm. He’s steadily thrusting into him, thoroughly taking pleasure in the way he stretches around Holden’s fingers, when suddenly something pierces through him, not literally, not viciously, more like a warm breeze. 

_Keep going, love_

Bill’s voice reaching him without a word being spoken startles him. It startles him so much that he freezes in his motions. He can feel the way his eyes widen gradually, looking down at Bill with astonishment while Bill looks expectantly back, waiting for Holden to continue.

And continue he shall. Grinning, Holden’s finger retreats, until only his fingertip lightly rests at Bill’s entrance and as he returns to his tender ministrations, adding a second, he can’t help but turn his face towards Bill’s leg, kissing and nibbling the soft inside of his thigh, again, in reverence. Moving along his body, like his lips are following familiar paths on a map, he leans down, careful to guide his partner’s legs around his waist, fingers picking up speed and listening to Bill’s breath picking up in speed as well. His arms, one of them previously supporting his head, the other stretched above him, find purchase around Holden’s shoulders. One hand buries itself into Holden’s hair, the other begins caressing along his back, pouring his warmth into Holden’s soul.

Holden keeps kissing him, eventually reaching the hollow of his throat and his stubbly neck. He hides his face in it, remembers what it’s like to feel such joy, the way it surges through the body and fills every corner with light.

 _Do you like it?_ He thinks, reaching out to Bill. 

_What do you think?_

Like water gushing out of a well his thoughts become a jumbled mess _IloveyouIlovethisIwantyousomuchallthetimepleaseforgivemeI’mselfish_ and trying to reign them in, trying to condense them into something comprehensible, he thinks _Call me love again._

The demand is lend weight with his fingers expertly nudging against Bill’s prostate, extracting a long guttural moan from him and a silent encouragement. That's _it, love, yes._

Holden finds a new rhythm, less coordinated and more visceral, need and love and euphoria guiding his fingers and his body as he kneels to get his hand back around Bill; Bill’s arms falling back down on the bed in the process. 

Satisfied, he watches as Bill’s hands fist themselves into the sheets until they, dissatisfied, reach out to Holden, beckoning him closer again. Once he’s done so, Bill determinately guides Holden’s lips to his, kissing him without finesse; his mouth stroking over his, hungry and hot. Just like the erratic little bursts of air he pants against Holden’s mouth.

A broken, unspoken, gasp of his name is all he gets before Bill’s cock stiffens, muscles around his fingers clenching and Bill comes, shuddering, calling out to Holden in his mind.

_Holden, fuck, Holden…_

Holden swears to himself that he’ll burn this moment, more like any other moment preceding this one, into his being – Bill’s voice engulfing him, and his love laid bare, touching the very core of him. His hand keeps moving, trying to prolongate this precious moment, for his and for Bill’s sake.

Because Bill deserves good things. Warm things.

Only when Bill sinks back into the bed, color high on his cheeks, strung out and vibrating with energy, does he stop touching him and slowly pulls his fingers out of Bill’s flushed body. He reaches for Bill’s discarded shirt and softly wipes at his belly and his sensitive hole, smiling, waiting for the cold to seep back into him.

Happy with his work, the soiled shirt lands back on the ground and Holden crawls from between Bill’s legs to lie down next to him. Like a moth to flame, Bill turns to his side, his hand reaching out to cradle Holden’s face, his thumb brushing along his cheek. 

Prior to his passing, Bill wouldn’t have been the type of guy Holden would have noticed or considered attractive. Thinking back on his usual affairs, he recognizes a pattern. Those few men he’s been with had been like him, young and scared, searching and discovering something inside them so deeply hidden that the fear was woven into the very fabric of their being. None of them would have dared to curl their hand possessively around Holden’s neck to reel him in for a kiss. These types of men were always careful, their fear reflected in their hesitancy and their shame. Holden knows, because he was one of them.

Bill is none of these things. Bill stayed. Bill, in his mind, called him love. He’s decisively mature and masculine with his broad frame and sharp edges; his latent aggressiveness. Although he’d once suppressed the part of himself which lets him be with Holden, he now embraces it, isn’t afraid of it. What he is afraid of, is letting it into the light, the outside world. But here in the privacy of their home, he’s soft and sweet, when he holds Holden in his arms or when showering him with affection. Unbeknownst to him, he’s subconsciously strengthening the connection between them, on which Holden has to actively work on. Holden wants to be good for him. Human.

For a while all they do is lie on their sides, Bill catching his breath, Holden watching him. No word has been spoken in the past hour.

 _I want Wendy to know who I am when she comes over to dinner. I want Angela to know that I’m waiting back home when the two of you are off to consult_. _I want Brian and Nancy to know you’re not alone anymore. I don’t want you to be ashamed._ _I just want you to be happy. With me._

Bill’s hand is brushing along any patch of skin available, as he opens his mouth, “Let me tell you this, when you came clean, I – not for one second, did I think of being the final nail in your coffin. Yes, I thought I needed to move on. But I also thought, if there was a chance, even the slightest one, to bring you back, I’d take it.” He pauses. “You deserve happiness, Holden and you deserve to live life to its fullest. And when you regain your mortality, I want you to remember what it's like to be so happy your heart races. And what it’s like to be touched by someone who cares for you. The things you want for me? I want them for you, too.”

Not _if_ , _when_ you come back to life.

Holden curls his hand over Bill’s heart, unusually bashful as he speaks, “I want to die with you by my side. Next time, you know.”

“That might not be as easy as you think. You’ll be …younger than I. I’m probably going to be pushing up daisies long before you.”

“Not if I can’t help it. I won’t let you.” 

“Yeah? What you’re gonna do? Care for me until I’m an old cripple?”

“If I have to. Hide your cigarettes for starters.”

Bill chuckles and captures Holden’s lips in a slow kiss, lasting for an eternity, for a second, his arms wrapped around Holden’s waist and his hand stroking along the small of his back.

Ending the kiss, Bill asks, “So were you able to find anything?”

Taken by surprise by the question, Holden is struck speechless, only looks at Bill and his expectant expression.

“What?”

“You never ask what I’m doing.”

“I’m asking now. Tell me, what do you do up there, hm?”

Smiling, Holden gives him another kiss, this one shorter but no less loving. “The lighthouse guiding me safely to shore.”

Then, with a frustrated sigh at his lack of progress, he rearranges his position, sits up and hooks his legs underneath Bill’s to steal some warmth.

“I tried everything I could think of – went through every guide on deciphering codes, read textbooks on the occult, compared the texts – and I – ”

“Have to admit defeat?” Bill supplies, while grabbing his cigarettes and putting the vaseline back into the drawer. Before he can pull one out of the packet, Holden snatches them out of his hand and throws them out of Bill’s reach. Only partially because he wants to keep Bill healthy. Insulting Holden like this is more than enough to warrant an imposed abstinence. “Hey, what the –”

“I’m not admitting defeat, I’m saying we need a different approach.”

“And what’s that?” Bill asks while getting into a sitting position himself, eying the cigarettes on the other nightstand. 

Once again, he’s not listening. Bill is not a stupid man, but he’s easily distracted. It’s a flaw and a strength of his that his attention can be captured by even the smallest of things.

“Bill.”

His glacier blue eyes swivel to Holden, resigned to his fate. “I’m listening.”

“Are you?” Holden asks sarcastically. 

“Yes, I am,” Bill scolds but isn’t as annoyed as he tries to be. Instead, he takes a deep breath and says, “I will have to talk to that bastard, don’t I?”

“Well, there aren’t a lot of options. I don’t want to talk to Cabot, seeing as that woman wants me gone and you and Wendy want to interview him. Why not use this opportunity to ask him some questions about the books and the - ritual.”

“I don’t like it. How am I going to know if he’s telling the truth? What if he provides me with information which will make this all go south? He’s not my usual convict, Holden. What he did was fucked up. Even worse, it worked. And I’m the only one who knows. There’s no precedence, no expert I can consult with.”

“You’re right. Because _you_ are the expert. Do you have a better idea? He must know something useful.”

Bill turns his head away, leaning it against the wall behind him and closes his eyes. It is only a matter of time before he agrees with Holden. He always does. Not necessarily because he loves him, but because he knows Holden ideas are mostly good.

“Okay, here's the thing. Imagine I'm talking to him, yes? He agrees to tell me everything I want to know, he tells us how to read this shit and he doesn't lie, what then? I'm a long way from being the expert and a long way from knowing how to use - don't make me say it.” He opens his eyes again, turning to Holden with a pleading look in them, his mouth an unhappy line, garnering a smirk from the other man. 

“No need. You're thinking it.”

“Seriously, I will need help, Holden. We’ll have to make sure everything is foolproof.” _I mean it, I don't wanna be the reason for something worse than this happening to you._

Intertwining his fingers with Bill's, convinced of Bill’s capabilities, and his own, he gives him a reassuring squeeze. _You won't._

In that moment, the alarm next to Bill's bed goes off, reminding them that it's only Friday and work is waiting back at Quantico. With a dismissive groan, Bill reaches over and turns the beeping alarm off. And with another groan he gets out of bed, traipsing over to his wardrobe and then the bathroom. Holden watches the familiar routine from his languid position on the bed, while the equally familiar tug of gaping physical distance between them makes itself known in its nasty manner. He wonders if... 

He begins thinking about the filthiest things he wants to do with Bill, projecting them loudly and clearly to ensure that Bill hears them, even as he's brushing his teeth in the bathroom.

The choked curse from the other room is enough of an answer and yet it is followed by a muffled yell, “Stop it, Holden!”

Holden doesn’t.

In answer to his teasing, the door across the hall swings open. Bill stands in the doorframe, his toothbrush menacingly pointing at Holden and a blush blazing across his cheeks.

“Cut it out. And _don’t you dare_ do this kind of shit while I’m at work. Or God forbid while I’m seeing Brian.”

“I’m just testing something,” he tries to defend himself while having a hard time keeping himself from laughing at the stormy expression on Bill’s face.

“No. No, you’re not. Now stop it and – conjure some clothes.”

“Why?” Holden teases, trying to play coy, unable to hold back the smile anymore. “It’s not like anyone can see me.”

“I can and as much as I enjoy the sight, I don’t enjoy walking around the office with a fucking boner because you’re horny. Get dressed.”

Without waiting for a reply from Holden, he turns and disappears back into the bathroom. But Holden isn’t willing to let this go, not yet. For Bill’s sake he makes himself appear in casual clothing, then moves, walking past Bill’s turned back, as he spits water into the sink, and down to the kitchen where he comes to a halt in front of the French door. Looking at their tree, he tugs at the softly pulsing connection and thinks _Have you ever considered office sex? Me, down on my knees underneath the table while–_

As predicted, Bill’s voice rumbles through the house like booming thunder as he screams Holden’s name. Holden smiles and walks into the kitchen. For now, he’s satisfied. For now, Bill deserves a break. Deserves good things. Warm things. Like a nice cup of coffee.


End file.
